Sam's Vanishing Act
by Auntieoaty
Summary: Sam has sort of disappeared and Foyle is looking for her
1. Sam's Vanishing Act Prologue

Author's Note: Characters speaking " " Characters quoting others or thinking to themselves ' '

Author's Secondary Note: I am deviating from my usual Sunday posting start for two reasons: 1. So the readers of the Foyle's War Fandom may have a little Christmas week gift from me. and 2. My next story posting (probably next 2 postings) will be to the **Alibi 2003** Movie fandom, as they are the only stories I anywhere near ready for post. I will likely post them on Dec 31 and Jan 7. Posting the two **Alibi 2003** stories will allow me the time needed to complete one story edit (make it ready for post) and get two more stories close; if not also 'post ready'. That will leave my last 2 (for now at least; as I have had no new ideas come to mind in several weeks) Foyle stories time for completion.

Author's Tertiary Note: Thank You to the guest reviewers I cannot respond to you in messages. And Thank You to those who have read and taken a moment to message me.

I appreciate knowing those reading are enjoying. Just so you know if you sign in to review – I usually include story hints/spoilers in my private replies J Just another incentive to get you lovely readers to review.

 **Prologue:**

Foyle knew of Sam having lost the baby. One morning, she phoned him at the office and invited him to lunch at her home. He knew the moment she opened the door, his thoughts during their earlier phone conversation were correct; something was wrong with Sam. As they picked their way through their lunch she told him of her miscarriage and asked that he be there when she broke the news to Adam. She did not want Foyle to let on that he already knew; just listen as though she were telling them both for the first time. She explained she knew she should tell her husband first, but honestly feared she would not be able to get the words out when the time came. If Foyle were there, she was sure she would draw strength from that and be able to get through it.

Foyle had stayed and talked with her that afternoon; until she had regained her composure and reassured him several times she was fine and had her emotions under control. He had returned that evening for dinner as requested. Sam had said she wanted to tell Adam as soon as possible but was concerned just sitting down together as a trio to have a chat would sit badly with the younger man. Foyle understood each point she made, even if he didn't completely agree with her decision, it wasn't worth upsetting her further; therefore he, only somewhat reluctantly, agreed to her plan. The composure she showed at dinner was enlightening, and in an unexpected way endearing, to Foyle. He found even more to appreciate and admire about Sam and thought it was a shame her husband was completely unaware of the depth of her compassion in weighing just when and how to break the news to him and doing so as gently as possible. Foyle knew she was heartbroken and that Sam knew he knew; but, she went along as though nothing had changed since the last time the three had met.

Dinner went well, with Sam and Foyle both endeavoring to steer the conversation away from the baby. He supposed, in a way, it was a good thing Sam's pregnancy had not been farther along. Not only was the loss not physically noticeable, but his evening visits with the couple were still apt to span a variety of topics in conversation without discussing their new addition. That night had been no different, until close to the end of the meal, when Sam had gone to get the coffee and dessert from the kitchen. Adam had asked, rather out of the blue, what was next on Sam's 'baby to do list'. Foyle heard the clatter of the serving tray as Sam jostled it when caught unawares by the question. He tried to think of a way to cover for her reaction but the only thing he came up with was getting up and going to her.

He began speaking as he pushed his chair back to stand, "You really must let me help, Sam. Dinner was wonderful as usual. But, I am beginning to feel I'm not doing my part, at least not recently. I've not had you and Adam out to dinner in several weeks."

She picked up on the cue quickly, "That's not necessary, Christopher. You've been out of town more than you've been in town lately. We understand."

They met on the kitchen side of the doorway. Foyle took the tray from her and Sam whispered, nearly inaudibly, "Right after dessert."

He gave her a nod before turning about and heading back into the dining room; serving tray in hand.

As expected, Adam was initially shocked and then deeply saddened by the miscarriage. As he embraced Sam, she and Foyle exchanged a look over Adam's shoulder. Foyle collected his hat and coat and silently slipped out into the night; leaving the couple to grieve privately.

 **Six months later**

It had deeply concerned Foyle that Sam had not reached out to him after the accident, as she had when she had lost her baby. He wondered whether he had said or done something that had caused her to think he wouldn't want to be there for her.

Sam and Adam had been in an auto accident; fatal for Adam, the driver. By the time Foyle had received word, Sam was out of hospital, but nowhere to be found. He had phoned Aubrey, not wanting to upset or disturb her parents. Foyle asked if Sam was at her parent's and if Aubrey had seen her?

Her uncle said he had seen her, knew she was not staying with her parents and had not been too badly injured physically; listed 'a few cuts and bruises as well as a severely sprained wrist and small bump on her head'. Aubrey strove to impress on Foyle that Sam was fine, by emphasizing 'her physical injuries were fairly minor but she may have needed a change of scenery for a while.' The older man sounded unconcerned as though he were sure Sam was or would soon be alright. Foyle requested his friend keep in touch and update him on Sam as soon as he had any additional news.


	2. Chapter 1

See Prologue for author's notes and disclaimers

 **Chapter One**

Aubrey phoned Foyle a fortnight after his call inquiring about Sam. Her uncle had been hesitant to phone but Samantha had been having nightmares; growing worse each night. She shouted out, 'Christopher!' in desperate tones and sobbed, 'No, no, no! Please! No!' the third night the outburst was followed by a plaintive call for, 'Christopher!?' each successive night the call for Christopher became increasingly frantic and utterly heart-rending. Every time he had brought up the topic of how she had slept or inquired whether there was anything she wanted to talk about, Samantha changed the subjected. Finally, Aubrey decided the best thing to do was to call Christopher and arrange for him to visit.

The morning Aubrey phoned, it was obvious to Foyle, the vicar was nervous and in some distress; clearly upset or worried about something. The man was trying too hard to be nonchalant and failing miserably. Foyle tried his own hand at feigning nonchalance by asking, rather absently, if the older man had heard from Sam. He immediately noted the answer was a vague hasty statement intended to change the subject. Foyle decided to let it go for the moment; when Aubrey suddenly invited him to visit so they could do some fishing together. Foyle was not keen on the long solo drive but felt Aubrey wanted him there for something other than fishing and would not or could not disclose the reason over the phone. Foyle also thought he would get more information from his friend in person rather than over the phone. Aubrey had seemed uncomfortable and somewhat evasive; trying too hard to make it sound like nothing out of the ordinary for him to phone with such an invitation. Then when Aubrey pressed him for a specific arrival time, Foyle's suspicion of the vicar having ulterior motives was instantly confirmed and greatly magnified.

In anticipation of Foyle's arrival, Aubrey sent Samantha off on an errand. He had been pleased and secretly relieved when she had readily consented and said she wouldn't mind the walk into town and back. She had reiterated her agreement by insisting she had been feeling a bit penned up and could use some air and would enjoy a brisk walk.

When Foyle arrived Aubrey helped him bring his things into the house and get settled into his room. The whole time the older man was acting slightly harried and more than just a bit suspicious. Foyle saw some papers on a table down stairs that were in Sam's unmistakable scrawl. A glance through an open door way, before Aubrey hastily closed the door as they passed, revealed a pair of house slippers that looked very much like the pair Sam had said was her favorites. When she had stayed a few nights at his house after her lodgings were hit by Jerry, he had seen those house slippers each evening and each morning of her stay. Sam had a habit of taking her shoes off as soon as she could in the evening in favor of the slippers she declared her 'favorites' and of waiting until the very last possible moment to take them off and put her shoes on each morning. He remembered her comment that she would 'wear them 'til all their stitching fell out, because there is truly nothing so marvelous than comfortable shoes on ones feet'. Foyle opted to say nothing about the items he saw and decided to wait a bit and see if he could get Aubrey to disclose more information about Sam first. However, Aubrey was less than forthcoming with any useful information. He stuck to the subject of fishing; pointed out a favored spot, in view from Foyle's room, before leading the way down stairs and out to the back garden. Aubrey took Foyle through his various fishing paraphernalia in the garden shed, sticking to the pretense of the fishing invitation. Soon after, Aubrey attempted to point out the fishing spot, yet again; through the woods beyond the vicarage. All Foyle could see was a thickly wooded area.

Sam stepped up to the sloped side of uncle Aubrey's vicarage and paused to look back at the view she never tired of; down the sway and across to Parkin's orchard. As she turned back toward her uncle's house she noticed a familiar form standing next to Uncle Aubrey. Both men had their backs to her and appeared to be in deep discussion on a topic of some interest.

Coming up from behind the pair Sam greeted, "Hello." Unsure how she should address Foyle, especially in front of her uncle, she had stuck to the single word greeting.

Foyle gave her a smile of surprise, when he turned to approach her, as he replied, "Hello, Sam. How are you?"

"Fine."

At his questioning look she quickly added a nervous, "Really, sir."

"Christopher." He gently corrected.

Her expression became a bit bashful, "Right. Sorry."

"Not at all. We discussed that before, I just want you to be comfortable and since you no longer work for me, no need for 'sir'."

She looked a bit sheepishly at him but said nothing.

"You know, Sam, if you aren't comfortable with ..."

"No. No, no." She shrugged, "I just forgot," and then gave him a small rueful look and chuckled, "You gave me a look like you used to when I first started working for you." Another chuckle punctuated her statement. "And, I just forgot."

He smiled knowingly and then gave her a little smirk of 'sorry' that made her chuckle again.

Sam's uncle had been taking in the exchange with great interest as he pretended to be distracted by something in the garden and then acted as though he were just catching up to the conversation, "Ah, Samantha, my dear. Christopher and I were just discussing a plan to go fishing."

Sam smiled in acknowledgment to her uncle and then spoke to Foyle, her smile held, "Uncle Aubrey didn't tell me you were coming to visit."

His expression said much more than his words, "I have no doubt."

Sam's smile faltered a bit as realization dawned; she stated flatly, "He didn't tell you I was here either."

"He did not."

"Uncle Aubrey!" She admonished.

The vicar had the good sense to feign embarrassment; even if neither of his companions believed it to be true.

Foyle bit back a laugh as he offered, "If he had, I would have seen to a visit much sooner." He gave her another little smirk and slid a glance toward Aubrey and back, as if to say 'It's alright, go easy on him'.

Sam simply shook her head at them both and smiled.

The trio spent an amiable afternoon and evening together.

Aubrey spent the hours with his guests watching and listening with great care and attention; without appearing to do so. He was intent on evaluating the non-verbal communication between the pair and identifying each little nuance of how things were said. Neither Sam nor Foyle seemed to notice his distracted manner, as anything unusual, throughout the remainder of the day.

Foyle, was greatly relieved to see Sam doing so well, aside from her wrist still being in a bandage; he saw no other sign of any other remaining injuries. He knew all too well that the inner wound from the loss of her husband would take longer than a couple of months to heal.

Sam was filled with nothing but positive thoughts and emotions throughout the afternoon and evening spent with Christopher and her uncle. She was especially fond of her Uncle Aubrey and spending time with him was something she had always enjoyed in the past. However, the nature of this visit had put an unusual strain on them and she had been growing more and more uncomfortable navigating conversations and enduring quiet moments with him. She was aware that he was only trying to help and knew the hovering would have been much worse at her parent's. However, the worried looks and constant checking to see how she was doing had become increasingly difficult to endure. Having Christopher there was far beyond having the simple buffer afforded by a third party. For Sam it was as if she felt herself returning to life; growing interested in what was going on around her, wanting to actively engage and be a part of it all again.


	3. Chapter 2

See Prologue for Author's note, disclaimer, and spoilers

 **Chapter Two**

The three companions had bid each other a goodnight and all gone to sleep hours earlier. Sam was tortured, once again, by the same nightmare she had had every night for nearly two weeks. In the dark stillness of the night, Foyle heard Sam cry out. He bolted from his bed and grabbed his robe as he headed for the door to his room. The short distance across the hall was not enough time to pull his robe on. He entered Sam's room, with a quick cursory knock that he did not expect would receive a response, as she was still calling out his name in the same desperate tone.

"Sam! Sam, I'm here!" He pitched his robe on the foot of her bed and put a hand out to shake her awake; all in one motion.

Sam woke with a start, so relieved to see him, she made a quick grab for his arm. Her unanticipated reaction knocked Foyle off balance. In an effort to avoid falling on the floor, he shifted his weight quickly and turned slightly. His rapid motion caused him to end up sitting on the edge of her bed with an arm arched across her on the bed; preventing his falling on her.

Sam drew her arms around his waist and clung to him as she sobbed. Foyle quickly adjusted his position so he was sitting upright and then held Sam to him; stroking her hair and murmuring reassurances.

She attempted to speak through her tears. He managed to make out enough of her words to know what the dream had been about. Her sob choked words transitioned into strained whispers as Sam realized where they were, about what time it was and how loud she had likely been speaking.

Soon she was talking so softly Foyle had to say, "Sam, I can't hear you."

When he made a nearly imperceptible motion along her hair as though to turn her head, Sam drew her head back just enough to turn her face from the room and angle it slightly closer to his ear. As she continued to speak, she relaxed more and more, until her forehead had come to rest at the side of his neck. Foyle could feel her breath drift across his throat as she spoke in soft halting sentences. The emotion resonated from her body in sync with her voice and he felt as though her words were entering directly into his heart. His chest clinched in pain for her as she related what she could recall of the accident. Apparently, there had been a distinct alteration of the facts in her dream; it had been Foyle not Adam that had died.

Foyle listened carefully to everything she said while murmuring quiet reassurances to her. He held her securely with one arm and gently stroked her hair and shoulder with his other hand.

He had known some of the details of the accident, from conversations with Aubrey and a friend in London he had phoned for information after hearing about the incident. It was difficult to hear Sam struggle to relay the details of the accident: even though, he knew she needed to say what had happened. Without talking about it and her feelings, the nightmares likely would not stop anytime soon. Furthermore, Foyle needed to know, what she remembered and how she felt, if he was going to be of any help.

The couple was coming home late from a weekend in the countryside as guests of some friends. Adam had insisted they go home that night because he had some work to prepare before a meeting on Monday and found he had forgotten his briefcase. Adam had been driving, Sam thought she may have dosed off because she couldn't remember the accident itself, only being bumped awake as the car went off the road. She saw Adam as the car slammed to a stop against a tree, and how he was thrown about. His head hit the side window and he bounced about the steering wheel before falling over against her. There was blood coming from his ear and he wouldn't look at her. She hadn't known then that he was already dead.

It was apparently at that final point in her dream that Adam became Foyle; he was the man slumped against her, unresponsive, in the wrecked car. In her attempts to get a response from him she discovered he was dead.

Foyle had held Sam throughout her recounting of the accident.

Sam said tearfully, "I thought it was you. Just now, it _was_ you." and clutched at him tightly.

Once the new wave of tears subsided she relaxed her grip on his pajama top and eased her hold on him; but, did not let go completely. As they sat in silence for a few moments after she calmed down, Foyle was becoming acutely aware that he had not managed to put his robe on. Added to that, was the fact Sam was in her nightgown and there was only a sheet between them; maybe a light blanket as well, he could not be sure. A growing sense of impropriety began to overtake his thinking. If he was going to be of any help to her, going forward, he needed to address the current, distinctly inappropriate, physical contact between them. He gently pulled Sam from his shoulder and leaned himself back the slightest bit in order to make eye contact with her. The shattered expression on her face nearly caused him to forget they needed to rectify the issue of their close proximity.

"Sam I am so very sorry." He couldn't resist the urge to comfort her and leaned in to place a kiss on her forehead.

When the sound of her sharp intake of breath; an attempt to keep her emotions under control, reached his ears his sense of responsibility to her spurred him into action. With a quick glance around he spotted her robe within reach.

"Here, put this on." He pulled her robe from a nearby chair and draped it about her shoulders.

Foyle left her to tend the rest and turned to reach for his own robe. As he stood, he slipped his arms into the robe, pulled it about himself and tied it before looking at Sam. When he did look at her, she tried to give him a smile but it was little more than a twitch at one corner of her mouth.

"Come on." He reached out to her as he spoke and she quickly slipped her hand in his.

As Foyle helped her from the bed, she started to question, "What …"

He interrupted, simply, "Tea."

Although, he wasn't sure what the time was Foyle was certain he would not be sleeping again soon and doubted Sam would either. So, they might as well sit in the kitchen or Aubrey's parlor and talk; even if they both were still in their night clothes. The impropriety of embracing each other on a bed, with or without robes, was far greater than sitting across a kitchen table, or parlor, from each other in pajamas and robes.

Foyle quickly found he was fairly lost in Aubrey's kitchen. Reluctantly, he relinquished the idea of tea preparation, "Sorry, Sam. I don't know where anything is."

The twitch at the corner of her mouth was a little more pronounced and sustained, still not a smile but closer; and, at that point he would take it. Sam moved about, the small yet will apportioned room, with purpose. Foyle tried not to stare at her as she stepped past him from time to time. There were so many things he could learn by watching her movements and facial expressions and he wanted all the information he could gather. However, he did not want her to feel she was being studied; so, he did not look at her for any extended period of time. Sam put the cups on the counter and since he remembered where the tray had set, when they entered the kitchen, he got up to retrieve it. She had apparently noticed because she started setting other items out on the counter near him as she waited on the water to boil. When the water was ready and the tray setting complete Sam started to pick it up.

Foyle brushed his fingers along the back of her hand, as he reached across in front of her, "I'll carry it."

Sam nodded and stepped ahead of him to lead the way into the parlor and turned on a soft lighted lamp, near the doorway, as she entered.

He glanced around the room and found the only open surface to safely set the tray was the coffee table, "Here alright?"

"Yes, it's fine."

Foyle poured the tea and fixed each cup to their individual preference before handing Sam her cup.

"Thank you." She whispered then made her way over to one of the chairs, sat down and curled her bare feet back near her hip.

Foyle stepped around the coffee table and sat on the couch. The two sat silently, drinking their tea; each absorbed in their own thoughts for a while. Sam avoided eye contact and Foyle tried to surreptitiously study her.

When they had each finished their tea he ventured, "Would you care to talk?"

Sam looked at him and pinched her mouth until her lips thinned but made no other attempt to respond.

He gave her a knowing nod and decided to leave it a while.

It was only a matter of a few minutes before Sam got up to retrieve a blanket off the far end of the couch.

"There's just the one down here." She said apologetically.

"I'm fine."

She looked down at his bare feet, "It will only get colder before morning."

He started to move, "I'll go up and..."

"No." she said urgently.

He paused and gave her a questioning look.

"Uncle Aubrey. He's a light sleeper."

"Right." Foyle leaned back into his spot in the corner of the couch, sitting slightly angled.

Sam stepped cautiously toward him and slowly sat on the couch; leaving some space between them.

"We can share." She stated simply and leaned forward to move the tea tray down to the other end of the table. As an afterthought, she plucked a small pillow from the other end of the couch and set it on the table in front of him, "Put your feet up here, save numbing."

Foyle gave her a dubious look but complied with her instruction.

As soon as he settled his feet, she tucked the end of the blanket around both feet and sat back against the cushion, again leaving a space between them; once more she pulled her feet up next to her body. Sam handed him one corner of the top edge of the blanket and pulled the other across her lap.

She appeared to focus on something on the other side of the room. Her voice was tight with emotion as she said softly, "I couldn't bear it if you died. I don't think I could live through that."

Foyle was at a total loss for what to say, all he could think was what he finally managed to say, a sympathetic, "Oh, Sam." and he reached out to hold her hand.

Sam grasped his hand in return but would not look at him; fearing she had said too much.

A little while later her eyes drifted shut and she let go of his hand. Foyle brought his hand back to his lap and watched her from his angled position. He was sure Sam wasn't asleep but he wasn't going to push her to talk; about anything.

Earlier, when she'd mentioned Aubrey being a light sleeper he hadn't argued the point. However, as he looked at her, in the quiet of the parlor, his earlier questions returned:

'If Aubrey is such a light sleeper how had he not heard Sam cry out? And if indeed he had heard; which is more likely, what had he thought of me holding Sam? And, why had he not said anything or, at the very least, made his presence known?'

Unbidden, Foyle's mind brought a fresh line of questions to the forefront; triggering an internal dialogue:

'Would I have said anything, if I were him?'

'Depends I suppose, on how I had felt about it.'

'If I'd had objection, I definitely would have said something.'

'But, with no objection?'

'Probably wouldn't have said a word.'

'What objection?' The sudden realization reverberated slowly through his mind. 'What. Objection?'

He focused his gaze on Sam and the thought solidified. 'What objection could Aubrey have to Sam and me?'

Foyle felt himself collapse inwardly, slightly, with the weight of that truly unexpected realization, 'Sam and me; together.' Involuntarily, he let out a heavy sigh.

Sam's eyes flew open, seeing him staring back at her, she was instantly on alert and instinctively sought assurance, "What? Are you alright?"

He thought for a brief moment and decided to answer her honestly; as he always had, "Yes. I think. Maybe." As he spoke he discovered he wasn't exactly sure what the honest answer was and added apologetically, "Was just thinking."

Foyle forced himself to keep his face to her. Sam had shown a knack for reading his expressions in the past; he hoped she would be able to at that point too.

After a few moments, carefully studying him, she nodded and said, "Yeah, _maybe_. Me too."

Foyle considered her and the situation for a few seconds and then raised his arm, which had lay along his side between them, and held it open to her in silent invitation.

Sam scooted closer and curled herself against his side. When he gently settled his arm about her shoulders, she reached up and tucked the blanket over his arm. She snuggled back into a comfortable position next to him but didn't relax any noticeable amount. He realized that although she had tucked in next to him with little hesitation, she still seemed very uneasy. On instinct he reached across his chest and felt along his side for her hands. His fingers brushed against hers and hers twitched in reflex. Foyle rested his hand on top both of hers for a moment. Feeling no more reflexive motions, he slid his fingers around one wrist. Deliberately keeping his grasp light and his movement slow; he allowed for Sam to withdraw her hand if she wished. As he slowly drew her hand across his chest, he felt her voluntarily moving her arm with him. At the placket of his pajama top he stopped their motion, shifting his grasp so his thumb was in Sam's hand and his fingers were loosely folded over the top of hers. She sighed softly and he felt the upper area of his chest warmed by her exhaled breath. It was hardly any time at all; he became aware of her weight increasing slightly against his side and along his chest, as she drifted into sleep.

It was hard to gauge how long the sun had been up, because they had left the light on. It was only a guess; but, Foyle thought they had been asleep about three hours. He risked one eye to an abbreviated sweep of his surroundings before letting it drift closed again. At some point in the night or early morning hours he had brought his feet off the table and set them back on the floor. He could feel the blanket pooled atop his feet. The pillow was no longer on the table and he assumed it had fallen to the floor when he moved his feet. However, it suddenly occurred to him the tea tray was no longer on the table either. The tray had been cleared away. It couldn't have been Sam because she was still curled snuggly beside him and her hand was still resting in his on his chest. His eyes snapped open and he listened intently for any noise. There was a faint rustle of paper and a light clink of delicate porcelain to delicate porcelain; but nothing else. Then a few moments later another clink and a short while after that the sound of paper rustling again. He surmised Aubrey must have been up, cleared the tray and seen them; again he said nothing nor made any attempt to disturb them. As he listened, Foyle became certain that Aubrey was settled in the kitchen with his morning tea and newspaper. Even though he would have liked to have had some time alone to talk with her uncle, Foyle was loathed to disrupt Sam's peaceful sleep. Finally, he concluded that if his and Sam's close proximity had not bothered her uncle on at least one or, more than likely, two occasions; then it wouldn't bother him either. To prove it to himself, Christopher shifted slightly; just enough to stretch his legs out a ways and soon drifted back into contented sleep with Sam cradled to his chest.

 **Author's note** : For several weeks I have been proofing and editing this story (among others), thinking it ended here. As most of you know by now, I do not force my stories to continue beyond what the muse gives me to write. I didn't here, either. However, for the first time ever, the muse apparently had just gone dormant. Because, as I was concluding the final read through another few bits sprang to mind and I wrote them down as fast as they came to me. Now that they too are proofed and edited I am certain this one is done; the final chapter will be posted tomorrow and you can read 'the add-on' from the muse. Aren't you glad you didn't have to wait weeks for it? LOL


	4. Chapter 3

See Prologue for disclaimer and spoilers

Author's Note: I would like to extend a **huge thank you** to **eyesforfiction** for the input and the fantastic plot bunny feeding. That being said, all mistakes are still all mine.

 **Chapter 3**

Foyle woke again a couple of hours later. He stayed still and assessed the environment, once again. There were no extraneous noises anywhere in the house; as far as he could hear. Sam was, he was fairly certain, still asleep. Her breathing was even and she had not moved much from where he repositioned her earlier; when he drew her to his chest before going back to sleep. She was more to his side again and he became aware of the numbing pain in the arm that was now more under than around her. Awareness of his discomfort spread with the realization that one leg was numb near his foot and the other was revealing various degrees of numbness and tingling pain from hip to toe. It was no longer possible for him to hold still, the more he woke, the more pronounced the miscellaneous pains became. Foyle attempted to ease Sam fully to the couch and off his chest and arm. His slow gentle movements were successful enough to free himself from the weight of her sleeping form without disturbing her. The small pillow from the night before was resting on the floor; he retrieved it and slipped it under her head as he inched away the last little distance. Gritting his teeth against the shocks shooting up and down his legs, he struggled to keep from making any noise, as he flexed and massaged the waking muscles. When he was certain he could safely stand, Foyle eased himself to the edge of the couch and stood gingerly; standing still as he waited for the rest of the numbness to abate. With a last glance to be sure Sam was still asleep, he carefully made his way around the table and the end of the couch to exit the parlor and enter the kitchen. The room was empty; but, a newspaper lay folded in half on the table with a note alongside. Foyle picked up the note and read the precise writing of a well practice hand.

My Dear Samantha and Christopher,

Please forgive my absence on your arising for the day. Obligations of my position require my attending to a few clerical visits today. Do not wait lunch on me; I shall not be home until tea time.

Know you are both welcome, as always, to consider my home yours.

Christopher this means, in part, whatever you find to eat; consider it yours.

May I suggest a stroll down along the water path? It is a lovely day for that particular walk.

Uncle Aubrey

Foyle replaced the note, just as he had found it, and left the kitchen. He quickly made his way upstairs and attended to his morning routines. Returning to the kitchen; shaved and dressed, he set the kettle on to boil. While waiting for the water; he set the tray with cups, saucers, toast, a jar of berry jam, and small bowls of milk and sugar. Once the water was ready he poured it into the pot that was already in place on the tray and steeped their tea. Tray in hand, he returned to the parlor and set it on the table near Sam. He glanced at the clock on the other side of the room and was surprised to find it was half passed eleven. Although he hated to have to wake Sam he knew if she slept much longer she would likely have difficulty sleeping the coming night. Wondering how best to wake her, he turned back to find she was watching him.

"Good morning."

"Mmm, good morning." Sam's sleepy voice matched her half hooded eyes and the slow stretch that said more than anything else; she wasn't really ready to wake up.

Her eyes drifted shut as she relaxed back into the couch at the end of her stretch. Foyle smirked at her persistent sleepiness; pleased to know she was in fact able to sleep after the distressing dream she had had. Stepping back to the couch he sat down a short distance from her; giving her space to move once she was truly awake.

Keeping his voice low, he called, coaxingly, "Sam?"

"Hmm." Was her sighed reply.

Maintaining the low soft tone he continued, "If you'll wake up we can have some tea and toast together." He paused to watch her shift under the blanket and then added a bit more firmly, "While it's still hot." There was just the slightest hint of a question in his words.

Sam squeezed her eyes tightly shut, stretched again and then moaned quietly as she opened her eyes and started to sit up.

When she looked at him again he greeted her once more, an expectant expression framing his words, "Good morning. Sleep well?"

She pinched her eyes closed and rolled her head around her shoulders, "Mmm huh."

Foyle picked up her tea cup and saucer and made a point of making noise as her doctored the tea to her preference. The tinkling of the spoon as it tapped side to side in the cup worked to draw her eyes open.

Sam looked up at him from her half seated position and smiled apologetically, "That mine?"

"Uh huh." His hand moved the cup toward her as his face shifted to ask if she wanted the cup.

She wiggled about and sat the rest of the way up as she pulled the blanket around her shoulders.

He passed her the cup and saucer and then began to fix his own cup.

After few sips she gave him a sleepy smile, "Good morning."

He smiled back and gave her tilt of his head as he swallowed the tea he had just sipped from his cup.

Sam took another sip then hummed, "Mmm. Thank you."

"You're welcome,"

She looked a bit bashful all of a sudden, her voice was so soft he barely heard her, "Thanks for the sleep too."

Foyle was not sure how to respond to that so he simply nodded.

The look they exchanged seemed to say enough for both of them.

While they had their tea and toast he told her of Aubrey's note and they discussed how they would spend their day until her uncle's return.

Following tea, Foyle cleaned up their dishes and tidied the parlor while Sam went upstairs to change and get ready for their walk. They took Aubrey's suggestion and walked the water path down to the old foot bridge and then back along the same side back to the vicarage. Neither wished to brave the rickety old footbridge, only to be on the far side of the water, resulting in their having to walk an extra mile and a quarter to reach the newer arched cart bridge; the only other way back, within 5 miles, to the vicarage side of the water.

They returned to the vicarage ahead of Aubrey by about a half an hour. Together they set about preparing for tea time. When Aubrey returned the three had a companionable tea; no one mentioned the night before. Foyle had mentally braced himself for the possibility that Sam's uncle would feel the need to talk to him about what he had witnessed the previous night and that morning. Aubrey, from the moment he returned home, addressed topics of purely innocuous nature. There was no hint of subterfuge on the vicar's part; it became obvious to Foyle Aubrey was leaving it to him whether they discussed the situation or not. Since Sam had spent the day, with him, avoiding the topic and frequently changing the subject anytime their conversation veered too close for her comfort. Foyle decided it would be best, for Aubrey and him, to talk away from Sam's presence.

Later that evening, Aubrey and Foyle sat at a game of chess while Sam lounged on the couch reading a mystery novel. As the game advanced and their general conversation waned, Foyle broached the topic of Aubrey and him going fishing the next morning. At first, Aubrey seemed almost confused by the suggestion. Foyle drew the older man's eyes to his and then slid his glance in Sam's direction and back. He was grateful when Aubrey caught his meaning instantly and fell in quickly; the two began to plan their fishing excursion for the next morning.

Aubrey inquired of Sam, "My dear, would you mind Christopher and me leaving you alone for the morning? I did invite him with the promise of a fishing trip."

Foyle was impressed with how astute Aubrey had been to be sure he was the one to ask if Sam minded. His add on about the fishing invitation gave his inquiry an air of innocence that fully disguised any hint of an ulterior motive. Foyle chewed the inside of his cheek and pretended to study his next move; so he would not be tempted to look at Sam and risk giving anything away.

"No, I won't mind." She smiled sweetly at her uncle and then added cheekily, "If the two of you don't mind me being excited to have some time to myself?"

For a fleeting moment Foyle thought Sam had caught on to them; but, when he turned to look at her, her expression was devoid of any suspicion.

Her last statement had not really been a question; the smirk she wore showed that clearly. Neither man could resist teasing her; just a little.

"No, not at all my dear. Did you want us to stay away all day?" Aubrey offered in an overly solicitous manner.

"Should have said something earlier, Sam. Thought you liked my company." Foyle said with a hint of apology in his voice that was completely contradicted by his winking at her.

It was obvious all around that they were all in on Sam's joke as they exchanged grins and winks and Sam giggled at them.

Just to be certain the two knew she really was fine with them being gone she said, "Seriously, I don't mind at all. I know how much you both love to fish."

Her uncle thanked her and Foyle gave her a short nod of acknowledgment. Then each of the three resumed their previous activities.

A little while later, Aubrey motioned for him to look to the couch. Sam was asleep, her book, pinned under her hands, lying on her chest. Foyle got up, crossed to the couch and stepped cautiously between the couch and the table so as not to trip on Sam's discarded slippers. He slowly eased the book from her loose grasp and set it on the table. Then leaning past her, he picked up the blanket from the end of the couch and carefully covered her; being certain to tuck the fabric around her bare feet. Stepping back just as cautiously, he returned Aubrey and their match.

In a few moves Aubrey whispered, "Check."

Foyle blinked and shook his head in a short little twitching motion as he attempted to survey the board and figure out his next move. The move he settled on was of no help.

"Checkmate." came the resigned whisper from his opponent; who was certain Foyle was too distracted to have played any better that evening.

Aubrey gave him a strangely sympathetic look; that vanished as fast as it had appeared; leaving Foyle to wonder if he had imagined it. As his face began to morph to reflect his question; Aubrey curtailed Foyle's inquiry with a warm smile.

"Goodnight, Christopher"

Matching his friend's smile, he tendered a return, "Goodnight, Aubrey" and watched as Sam's uncle began to climb the stairs.

With a glance to Sam, remembering her saying it would get colder before morning, Foyle got to his feet and headed upstairs as well. After ducking into her room to turn down the bed; on the off chance she returned to her room in the night, he retrieved an extra blanket from the linen cabinet in the hall. Without further delay he descended the stairs to see to it Sam was tucked in; comfortably and warm enough for the night. After covering her with the extra blanket he gently lifted her head to slip the little pillow under it. 

He looked at her for a moment and then tenderly stroked her hair as he bent down to place a kiss on her forehead, "Goodnight, Sam" he whispered against her hair before rising.

Foyle started for the stairs, intending to go up to bed, but found himself returning to Sam. The thought had crossed his mind that she could have another nightmare and he did not want her so far away if she did. Being mindful not to jostle her, he eased himself down onto the couch near her head. Positioning himself comfortably against the cushions; he made sure he could easily reach out and stroke her hair. It was not long before he drifted off to sleep too. 

Sam woke a couple of hours later. She stirred and was momentarily disoriented when she did not readily recognize where she was. She sat up suddenly, waking Foyle with her rapid movement. As they each realized where they were, they exchanged a look and simultaneously began to shift about. Sam sat up and dropped her feet to the floor; sliding them into her slippers. Foyle pushed himself forward from the cushions and stretched in various ways before standing up. As he offered Sam his hand, to help her up, he plucked the extra blanket from the couch. Once Sam found her feet and stood in front of him he draped the blanket around her shoulders and then guided her to the stairs. Remembering how groggy she had been earlier when she woke; he took special care to make sure she navigated the stairs safely. When they reached her bedroom door Foyle halted their advance and turned Sam to face him. He absently drew the blanket tighter about her shoulders and then rested his hands atop the blanket. 

His voice was just loud enough for her to hear; as her assertion that Aubrey was a light sleeper came to mind, "Goodnight, Sam. Sleep well." 

Her eyes drifted closed as though she would go to sleep right there. 

Again, keeping his voice low, he said, "Hey." When she looked at him he continued, "You remember your uncle and I are going fishing in the morning." 

Sam nodded and blinked in an attempt to keep her eyes open; then she yawned. "Yeah, I remember." Her words trailing into a mumble. 

Foyle could not help but smile at her sleepiness when he suggested, "Maybe you can have a lie in tomorrow while we're gone." 

Sam made a noncommittal, "Mmm." sound and blinked a couple of times before she managed to focus on him again. 

With great effort to suppress a snicker, he leaned in and brushed a faint kiss to her forehead, "Go to bed, Sam. Sleep well." 

"Mmm," she agreed and then managed a groggy, "G'night." before she turned and shuffled toward her bed. 

Foyle held his place at her door, his teeth toying with the inside corner of his mouth; in an attempt to avoid laughing aloud. In all the years they had known each other, he could not recall ever seeing her so; the only way he could think to describe was 'sleep drunk', he found it both humorous and endearing. Leaning on the door frame, he waited until he had seen her safely reach her bed, kick off her slippers and, with the extra blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, she snuggled down into her bed and mechanically pulled the covers about herself.

Foyle stepped from her doorway, paused to switch off the lamp on the hall table that Aubrey had left on for them, and retired to his room for the night.


	5. Chapter 4

See Prologue for disclaimer and spoilers

 **Final Chapter**

Foyle stepped from his room and crossed to Sam's door. He was relieved to see she was in much the same position as she was when he had seen her crawl into bed. She had not called out in the night and her face was relaxed in peaceful sleep. He pulled her door to; closing it as quietly as possible before heading down stairs to join Aubrey for their fishing trip.

His reason for suggesting they go through with the fishing trip would not keep once the pair was beyond hearing distance of the house. Foyle knew the only time he would have to discuss the situation with Aubrey alone; would be going to and coming from fishing. He and Aubrey both respected the actual practice of fishing as a time of minimal talking. Foyle took advantage of the time allotted him to quiz Aubrey about his opinions regarding the prospect of himself and Sam together; as more than friends.

The older man's reaction, or rather lack of reaction, was a bit disarming. Foyle thought back to the night before and how well Aubrey had finessed the exchange he had with Sam. The man had presented himself as though he were devoid of any subterfuge. Foyle would have bought into it too; had he not already been aware of Aubrey's hidden agenda. In spite of himself, Foyle found, he was suspicious of what Aubrey presented in his response to the topic. Sam's uncle had been nonplused by Foyle's questions, admissions and concerns.

They spent the better part of two hours fishing. In total the catch was seven fish; three of which were quite sizable. As they divested themselves of their waders and secured all of their gear, Foyle broached the subject once again.

"Aubrey, I saw last night, how impartial you can appear even though you have a genuine interest in a specific outcome. Granted it was for my benefit. And, for that I thank you. However, that doesn't minimize my point. I need your honest opinion. Don't temper your answers to spare me. Tell me everything you think regarding Sam and me, please.

Aubrey halted his movement and held Foyle's gaze, "My dear Christopher, if I had had any doubts, and I honestly don't believe I did, they would have been dispelled when Samantha was finally able to have a decent night's sleep for the first time in nearly two weeks; simply because she was with you. I don't know what is between the two of you. That is your business, yours and Samantha's. But, I do know she is truly happy, _content_ , when you are around. And you, well I never see you smile the way you do when you're with her or simply talking about her. Whatever the two of you decide," he shifted to an apologetic expression, "without trying to sound like I'm attempting to influence you. You will have my blessing."

Aubrey attempted to hold a serious expression; but, Foyle had noted a hint of impishness cross his friend's face when he denied 'attempting to influence'.

"Oh, no influence …" Foyle broke off; chuckling at his friend when it became obvious to Aubrey he had been caught.

It was only a matter seconds before Aubrey joined him, laughing at the situation and the fact that both men were comfortable enough with each other to find humor in the subject.

While the two men were gone; Sam, after her lie in, spent the remaining time in her uncle's garden, thinking about her nightmare and all she had said to Christopher, that night after he woke her. Of special focus was her confession that she couldn't bear it if Christopher died. It suddenly occurred to her that the thought of ever losing him was far more distressing than the reality of having actually lost Adam. She was still seated, in the stunned painful realization of that thought, when Foyle and her uncle returned.

Both men noticed her expression and Aubrey instructed Christopher to take her into the house while he remained outside to clean the fish.

Foyle stepped slowly towards her and spoke softly, concern for her lacing his words, "Sam?" he extended his hand to her, "Come on. Let's go inside."

Sam placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her up. Keeping hold of her hand and placing the other at the small of her back, he carefully guided her into the house, through the kitchen to the parlor, and over to the couch.

They seated themselves, Foyle still held her hand and Sam looked down to their hands and then reached out for his other hand. Giving her his hand he watched her and tried to figure out what was wrong. They sat with their hands entwined, him studying her face and her lost in thought, for a couple of minutes.

After a while he gently prompted, "Sam, what is it? What's wrong?"

She blinked as she drew her eyes to focus on his. With a deep sigh, Sam heard herself admit, "I said the other night that I couldn't bear it if you died. And today, just before you and Uncle Aubrey got back, I realized just the thought of losing you hurts me more than Adam really dying."

Although he was surprised by her statement, Foyle didn't budge or say a word. The look on her face told him she was still thinking about how she wanted to continue; so he simply waited.

"That sounds so terrible of me, I know it does. But, I can't help it."

He squeezed her hands lightly in encouragement.

Sam sighed again and shrugged, "I cared about Adam. I did. But, I don't think I was… No, I _know_ I was never in-love with him." Tears came to her eyes as she continued, "Doesn't make me feel too good about myself but it's the truth and I can't deny it."

Foyle slipped one hand free to retrieve his handkerchief and gently dabbed at her tears, "You've been through a lot in a short period of time. It's possible you are being much harder on yourself than you deserve, you know."

With a shake of her head, Sam pursed her lips tight to fight back against her emotions. Once she drew in a couple of ragged breaths and knew she could finish speaking without crying, she said, "No. That's not it. I am not blaming myself or looking to find fault. It's not that at all; that's the part that's terrible. It took Adam dying for me to realize; I settled for him. But, I never loved him like I should have. I know that now. Because, I …" She hesitated; afraid she was about to say too much.

Not fully understanding her, Foyle offered, "There are many types of love and many ways to mourn the loss of a spouse. There's no right or wrong way, Sam. You just have to find the way that works for you."

Sam gave him a small smile, held his eyes with an intent gaze, and said, "Christopher, I am saddened by Adam's death. He was a good man, kind, sweet and tried hard to help others. Someone like that dies and _it's sad_. But, what I'm saying is I miss him and mourn for him as I would any friend. But, not the way I should if I was in love with my husband. There is no great pain. No profound sense of loss. Just sadness for the loss of a good person who died too young."

The intensity of her gaze told Foyle there was more to what she had to say. He gave her an appraising look and asked, "What makes you so certain you didn't love Adam the way you think you should?"

Her mouth opened and then closed as she again thought she may say too much. Sam thought back over the night he woke from her nightmare and the early morning hours in the parlor. She quickly reviewed her earlier thoughts about the entire situation. A way to answer, without coming out and declaring her love to Christopher, sprang to mind and without a second thought she began to speak, "Because, all I can think is how much worse I would feel if it was you who had died."

"Like your dream." He stated simply; as though he understood completely.

"Yeah." She agreed flatly. Even though she was relieved she had not said too much; Sam could not help being a bit disappointed that he still did not know the true depth of her feelings for him.

They had not shifted their positions since Foyle had returned his hand to hers after wiping her tears away. He assessed her expression, the tone of her voice in the one word answer and the fact that she gripped his hands tighter; continuing to hold fast to him. All the signs seemed to point the same way. Foyle mentally replayed everything Sam had said since they had come inside.

That review reinforced his assessment and he played his hunch; that she was simply afraid to say it outright, "Are you saying you didn't love Adam the way you love me?"

Sam blinked several times and her head trembled; short of shaking side to side, her utter surprise revealed in her features. It took her a moment to find her voice, "You aren't mad?"

Foyle was the one who was surprised then, "Mad? Why would I be mad?"

She shrugged apologetically, "I don't know, I just thought it would make you really uncomfortable. Make things strained between us or …"

He shifted his hands so he was holding hers and drew them to him as he leaned a bit closer to her. His voice was firm but much quieter than it had been, his eyes held hers, "Sam, I could never be mad because someone loved me. And, in this case the only thing that would have caused me to be uncomfortable would have been to find I was alone in my feelings for you."

Foyle stayed in close proximity to Sam and maintained his hold on her hands; his thumbs absently stoking circles on the backs of her hands. He continued to face her; scanning her features as she did his.

Sam managed to whisper, "Feelings for me?"

He bit lightly at the inside corner of his lower lip; concerned a smile might make her think he was laughing at her. Foyle nodded slowly in response; keeping his eyes on hers.

The evidence of questions springing to her mind played across her face. Sam opened her mouth; but, all that came from her was a soft sigh and she closed her mouth again.

Foyle smiled then, in full understanding, "I know. Surprised me too." He admitted and then gave her a smirk.

Sam began to laugh and reflexively pulled one of her hands free to cover her mouth. Foyle's smile returned.

She shook her head and managed to breath, "Oh." before she started laughing again.

Foyle released her other hand and opened his arms to her. Sam moved herself across the small distance between them and leaned into his embrace, hugging him back. Her laughter abated. He stroked her hair and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

A moment later he felt her breath through the fabric of his shirt, "Christopher?"

He leaned slightly to one side so she could see his face. There was no reason to ask 'What?'; he knew when her eyes found his.

Foyle cradled her face with one hand as he eased his face to hers. He stopped just short of their lips touching. Sam knew his halting his movement was nothing more than him giving her the choice. She mirrored his touch on her face by caressing his cheek before she closed the remaining space between them. Their kiss was tender and brief. Each concerned the other might hold some reservation. When they parted just enough to look at each other; they each saw the reinforcement in the other's eyes and slowly eased their way back together. The kiss was emotionally charged and left them both seeking the reassurance of an embrace when they parted. As they held on to each other; they both knew that the shift in their relationship was a long time in coming and truly was affecting them in similar ways. Confusion and surprise were in equal measure to the love they felt for each other; being together was both familiar and foreign.

The door to the garden opened and closed softly and the faint sounds of Aubrey's tentative footsteps reached their ears.

Sam started to pull away, Christopher loosened his hold on her just enough that she could continue to pull away if she wished; but, said, "Aubrey already knows. If you want to stay here." His arms flexed lightly to indicate where 'here' was.

They exchanged a look and Sam simply repositioned herself within Christopher's embrace and leaned back against him as he settled into the couch cushions.

When her uncle remained in the kitchen longer than they had expected Foyle called out, "Aubrey? You need some help in there?"

Surprise infused the man's response, "No. I uhm, well I," his voice grew louder as her entered the parlor, "That is, I thought maybe, well…" his face flushed and he trailed off as he made his way around the couch to face them. A brilliant smile infused his face, "I, uh, see you two have come to, uh, an understanding." He stated with genuine pleasure.

The couple each returned his smile and then Christopher said dryly, "An understanding? Yes, I think that about sums it up." as he gave Sam a gentle squeeze.

Sam giggled at his silliness and then looked up at her uncle and said simply, "Thank you Uncle Aubrey."

Aubrey continued to smile at the couple as he settled into a chair across from them, "My pleasure, Samantha dear. My pleasure."


End file.
